ose proximity to
the Twin-Lights; that he had discovered since his arrival on the morning
train. Prior to that he had known only that she was in Eastboro for
the summer. Before that he had not been particularly interested in her
location. Since the day, two years past, when, having decided that he
had used her and her rapidly depleting supply of cash as long as was
safe or convenient, he had unceremoniously left her and gone to New
York to live upon money supplied by a credulous city gentleman, whom his
smooth tongue had interested in his "inventions," he had not taken the
trouble even to write to Emeline. But within the present month the New
Yorker's credulity and his "loans" had ceased to be material assets.
Then Bennie D., face to face with the need of funds, remembered his
sister and the promise given his dead brother that he should be provided
with a home as long as she had one.

He journeyed to Cape Ann and found, to his dismay, that she was no
longer there. After some skillful detective work, he learned of the
Eastboro engagement and wrote the letter--a piteous, appealing letter,
full of brotherly love and homesickness--which, held back by the storm,
reached Mrs. Bascom only that morning. In it he stated that he was
on his way to her and was counting the minutes until they should be
together once more. And he had, as soon after his arrival in the village
as possible, 'phoned to the Lights and spoken with her. Her tone, as
she answered, was, he thought, alarmingly cold. It had made him
apprehensive, and he wondered if his influence over her was on the wane.
But now--now he understood. Her husband--her husband, of all people--had
been living next door to her all summer. No doubt she knew he was there
when she took the place. Perhaps they had met by mutual agreement. Why,
this was appalling! It might mean anything. And yet Seth did not
look triumphant or even happy. Bennie D. resolved to show no signs of
perturbation or doubt, but first to find out, if he could, the truth,
and then to act accordingly.

"Mr. Bascom--" he began. The lightkeeper, greatly alarmed, interrupted
him.

"Hush!" he whispered. "Don't say that. That ain't my name--down here."

"Indeed? What is your name?"

"Down here they call me Seth Atkins."

Bennie D. looked puzzled. Then his expression changed. He was relieved.
When he 'phoned to the Lights--using the depot 'phone--the station agent
had seemed to consider his calling a woman over the